


The Hanger

by Cuddlewumpus



Category: A Dangerous Man: Lawrence After Arabia (1990), Lawrence of Arabia (1962), The Mint - T. E. Lawrence
Genre: Drabble, M/M, My First Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21911218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuddlewumpus/pseuds/Cuddlewumpus
Summary: Feisal and Ali contemplate a mechanic. One particular mechanic, in fact.
Relationships: Faisal I of Iraq/T. E. Lawrence
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	The Hanger

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Soul and Yours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19045225) by [nerdypipsqueak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdypipsqueak/pseuds/nerdypipsqueak). 



The view was impressive, that Faisal could say without question. He could do without the noise, though. 

His ears were being assaulted by the noises of a working aircraft hanger on a working air base. Banging and clanging, motors revving up and winding down, shouts in dialects of various languages to which he *thought* he might know the root, but some of the accents were so thick he wouldn’t stake a bet on it. 

Currently, his attention was focused in front of him, at the front end of the brand new aircraft taking up the majority of this hanger. The plane was lifted up off the ground on what he was told were called ‘stilts’ to allow access to all areas by the maintenance crews. The plane’s three engines were in various states of dissection all around the hanger: the wing engines set on workshop tables on either end of the building, and the great main engine still mounted in the nose, but the access compartment beneath the pilot’s seat thrown open. 

It was that compartment that really had Faisal's attention. Standing on tip-toe in black work boots atop a stepladder, a pair of dark blue overall clad legs stuck out of the bottom of the hatch, the torso attached to them disappearing into the workings of the engine. So from where Faisal stood, all that could be seen was the lower body of the person up in the engine itself, from the hips down.

What magnificent hips they were, too. The narrow waist he would pull into his arms, those hips, and powerful legs -- legs that Faisal knew very well when they wrapped themselves around him in passion…

Faisal closed his eyes, took a deep breath, calming his rising ardor. This would not do. He had more self control than this! He was a warrior, he was a King! He could hold back his desires in public, he’d been doing it for years. 

But damn it, the man made it hard! 

Faisal distracted himself from the sight of his lover for a moment by looking around at the rest of the hanger, inspecting it in a manner befitting the ‘reason’ for his visit: the arrival of the first of the new aircraft that would make up a Royal Fleet. Although the plane had been flown in, had landed properly, certain persons -- now currently covered in grease, no doubt -- had insisted that it be taken apart and put back together again by professionals, of which he ‘happened to be’ one. 

So, that insistence had led to the sight inside the hanger. Several dozen men disassembling and reassembling a complete aircraft, looking for any faults or imperfections that could risk the life of the King of Iraq and those who traveled with him. Every wire, every screw, every fitting would no doubt be scrutinized, and anything amiss would be either repaired, replaced, or the manufacturer would be called. Knowing the deeply buried temper of the man who would doubtlessly be making that call, Faisal hoped for their sakes that the men found nothing major. 

“Brother!” A voice boomed across the hanger. Faisal turned to see his brother Ali striding through the workstations like he was in the halls of his palace, not a dirty aircraft depot. Ali embraced his brother warmly and surveyed the goings on. “So, this is what keeps you from our business?”

“Business? Oh, yes… the stories of your latest conquest. I’d rather not.” Faisal rolled his eyes. “Your filth has never interested me, Ali, you know that.”

Ali, still looking around the hanger, noticed the open compartment in the front of the plane that had held his brother’s attention. Soon, recognition bloomed on his face as he took in the rolled up cuffs of the overall legs standing on their points.

“Faisal, is that…?”

Faisal looked back. “Yes, it is. He insisted.”

Ali laughed heartily. “Only because it’s yours. Were that to be *my* plane, no one would bother.” 

Faisal smiled. “You know he would. He never could leave a job to others that he could do himself. Just like the railways.”

Ali nodded. “And you let him, like always.”

There was a metallic clanging from within the compartment, and the body sticking out began to writhe and twist from side to side, catching the attention of both men. There was no sign of distress; just small grunts of exertion, the sound of which made both brothers swallow firmly. 

They stood, transfixed, watching the hips jerk from side to side in a patterned movement, the undulations almost rhythmic. Along with the hips, the backside moved in the same rhythm, the overalls doing nothing to hide the muscle beneath. 

Ali cleared his throat, looking away for a moment. This was his brother’s beloved, his habibi, not some young man in a casaba to be lusted after. However… he was a good looking man, the years since the desert while not entirely kind in body but certainly he had become healthier recently. He was still just as handsome now as he had been as a young Captain, perhaps even more so as he had grown older and more... worldly.

Looking back, Ali saw his brother’s gaze had not wavered. Switching to Turkish, Ali said, “You are a very lucky man, my brother. To have such a prize? Truly a thing to fight wars for. Were you not my brother, I would have taken him with me years ago when he first arrived among us. To lavish such attentions upon him as the world would find beyond decadent. Even the Sultans would blush at the thoughts that have run through my mind over the years… That pale skin, those arms, my hands on that waist…and those lips, my brother.“ Ali actually sighed wistfully. “Allah wept when He made those lips. So deliciously full, they are made for acts of love. The feel of them against your..”

Faisal turned from the object of his affection to stare openly at his brother. “Ali, are you mad?” he said, speaking Turkish as well. “Such things… should not be said in public! And I warn you, Ali --” 

“Peace, Faisal! I know he is yours and you his. I’ve always know this. It doesn’t stop a man from dreaming.” Ali thought back, remembering others who had held similar feelings towards the Englishman. “I was not alone in my desire, but it is you he chose. Remember that.” 

Faisal was about to speak but a louder clanging came from the engine compartment, followed by a low soft “Oh, for God’s sake!” in English. 

The twisting stopped, to be replaced by the slow, almost serpentine movement of the body in the hatch sliding down and out, backing down the ladder until the feet were on solid ground. 

A grease stained and sweat covered man stood at the base of the stepladder, a large wrench in one hand, and what looked like a bolt of some kind in the other. He reached for a stained cloth on a bench nearby and wiped it across his face, succeeding in smearing the grease around a bit, but not much else. He turned around to face the brothers, still holding the bolt in his hand. Faisal found himself staring at the full lips, resisting the urge to wipe away the small bit of grease that clung to them and 

“Faisal! Ali! Come here and look at this!” Lawrence beckoned them over. Technically, it was Shaw, but everyone knew who he was here and didn’t really care, so it made little difference.

The two crossed the short distance quickly to see what it was that they were being called to look at. The Englishman held out the bolt, a dark look crossing his face. 

“Faisal, there is no way in Hell you are getting on that plane any time soon. Look at that!”

Faisal took the bolt, more surprised by the language of the statement than the statement. Lawrence rarely said things with such vehemence. “It appears to be a bolt of some kind. I don’t know aircraft -- you do.”

“Exactly! It’s a bolt ‘of some kind’! It’s a bolt for mounting a Rolls-Royce engine.”

“So?” Ali took the bolt from Faisal. It seemed to be intact, no damage. 

Lawrence pointed back towards the plane. “Those are Kestrals! Those bolts are not interchangeable!” He took the bolt from Ali’s hand, then threw it on the worktable. “Someone is going to be explaining this! They’ve switched out the engines, thinking that men of the desert wouldn’t know the difference.” He sighed heavily. “I hate my countrymen sometimes, I really do.”

Faisal put a gentle hand on Lawrence’s shoulder. “Come. You’ve been here all day and should eat something. Ah, I know you. You didn’t stop at midday, did you?”

Lawrence suddenly found his boots quite interesting. Ali barked a laugh. “Such a prize!” he repeated again in Turkish. Switching back, he continued to laugh. “Our discussion can continue later, brother. Aurens,” he said, using the man’s more Arab name, “I will see you again soon. Perhaps when you might take apart my own airplane.” 

Ali smiled, and jauntily walked away from the hanger. 

Lawrence retrieved his black leather coat from a hook near the main hanger door and fell in step with Faisal as they walked up the low hill to where Faisal's car and driver waited. 

“Faisal?”

“Yes?”

“You do know I speak Turkish, don’t you?”


End file.
